


Bring It On Home (Get Some)

by Shiropropaganda



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith, Bottom Shiro, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Switching, ass eating, i'm a mess, it's just a lot of sex okay, just kidding there's lots of plot, lol sorry bout it, they switch a lot okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiropropaganda/pseuds/Shiropropaganda
Summary: AUShiro is a high-end realtor who doesn't really get art, but he can definitely appreciate Keith's nudes.





	Bring It On Home (Get Some)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pumpkinless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/gifts).



> This started bc I wanted to write a fic of pure FWB/Casual Sheith but I just can't deal bc they're so soft and tender to eachother and then this happened okay don't @ me about it.
> 
> Scream at me on tumblr or twitter @shiropropaganda

The first time they meet is at a high-end art installation that Shiro’s boss insisted he attend-- he’d assumed he would be scouting potential clients, reaching for a thick stack of business cards, but Sam had smacked his hand and frowned, “No, Takashi, this is called a break. Go and enjoy some absurdly expensive finger paintings.”

Shiro tried, he really did, but each canvas he viewed he imagined hanging in one of their model homes or in a listing trying to make the place seem inviting, finding them all generic and not at all thought provoking. He turned a corner, and felt himself flush when confronted with canvas after canvas of a lithe bodies stretched in different positions. _This_ was a bit more his style than the scenic paintings of the main exhibition hall.

He studied the paintings closely, and after a moment realized that they were all of the same person. The same long backed, muscled thighed, dark haired and broad shouldered person, and while Shiro wouldn’t say he had a deep appreciation for art, he certainly had a deep appreciation for bodies that looked like _that_.

He reached the end and stopped to read the artist’s bio, got as far as _K. Kogane’s study of light and the human body inspired his self-portrait work--_ when he heard a deep voice behind him.

“Like what you see?”

Shiro turned and found himself face to face with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Tall with dark hair braided over one shoulder and bangs in his eyes. He let his eyes drop to the swell of the man’s thighs for a moment before it clicked that _he is the body from the paintings_ and that Shiro’s prosthetic gripped the wine glass so hard it cracked in his hand.

“Uh--” Shiro said, wishing the floor would have mercy on his soul and swallow him down into hell.

 

 

What he didn’t expect was for K. Kogane-- _call me Keith_ \-- to help him find a place to dispose of the broken glass, checking the grooves of Shiro's prosthetic for any stray shards embedded in the tech. Or for him to step behind the bar and procure a fresh bottle of wine and two glasses before tugging Shiro up the stairs onto the roof.

But here they are, bottle empty beside them, and Shiro finds himself burying his fingers into dark hair with a groan as the other man shifts in his lap.

This is easily the craziest thing Shiro’s ever done. He goes to work, he sells some houses, charms his way into big commissions and then he goes home. He _doesn’t_ routinely sit back on cold concrete and pull gorgeous artists on top of him while they kiss and grind against each other where anyone can walk up and see them. Shiro can't even think of the last time he’s had sex outside of a bedroom, past partners a bit shy and not exactly adventurous.

But Keith is _gorgeous_ and charming in a dry, confronting way and they’ve been talking for the better part of an hour. And Keith looked at him side long with a smirk and told Shiro he thinks he’s sexy and now--

“I wanna suck your dick,” Keith pants into his ear, and his mouth goes dry, head bobbing in approval without permission from his brain.

Shiro doesn’t last long. The wine and the devastating heat of Keith’s mouth swallowing around him all work together conspiring against his stamina.

When Keith leans back with a smirk, Shiro can’t help but pull him up, coaxing him to stand so Shiro can get his mouth on him. He keeps his hands on slim hips, pulling Keith’s body forward and pushing it back again as he works his tongue against Keith’s length. The other man is quiet, but pants softly and presses his fingers into Shiro’s scalp when he likes something. He comes with a soft groan of appreciation, thighs trembling.

The rest of the night is a blur-- Shiro remembers more wine, an after party, pressing Keith against a wall and grinding up against him until they ruined both their pants, and then the younger man pressing his card into Shiro’s palm before he fell into a cab.

 

 

Shiro has been staring at that card for most of the day.  
He can feel his cat judging him.

He finally types out a message and tosses his phone to the side, checking his planner and emails on his computer in his work room and trying to efficiently plan out his week. He has a full roster of new clients to learn about, and focuses on sorting them into groups he can reference later.

He hears his phone chime and breathes hard through his nose, resisting the urge to drop everything and check his messages. He completes his task and drops onto his bed to read the three messages Keith had sent.

_was hoping I’d hear from you_  
_I’m just finishing up unloading stuff from the show last night  
wanna come by_

Shiro takes a breath and counts to sixty-- coming on too strong or being too eager has always been his weakness, according to Matt, and Shiro’s not sure what Keith is after, but if he has the chance to at least fool around some more, he certainly doesn’t want to blow it by jumping too soon.

Keith seems to be just fine with taking the leap for him because when Shiro looks back at his phone there’s another message waiting.

_and fuck?_

Shiro replies with a simple _Yes._

 

  
The address Keith sends is to his studio, and Shiro does his best to look cool and unaffected, leaning against the door frame and holding out the bottle of wine he’d brought when Keith pulls open the door. His dark hair is tied in a low ponytail, and the paint-stained tank he’s wearing is dangerously close to slipping off his shoulder. Shiro’s mouth goes dry and his dick twitches when one of Keith’s hands wrap around the neck of the bottle, and the other his collar, hauling him inside.

Shiro is shit at relationships because he’s shit at small talk. Dates are always a disaster. He cares for the people he’s seeing but has never been one to fill the space with chatter, which apparently makes him come off as cold. He doesn’t have to worry about that with Keith, it seems, because the moment he sets the bottle down on the nearest counter, he’s wrapped around Shiro, mouth hot and insistent.

Shiro pulls back for a moment, just to get his bearings. The studio is open and bright, full of work tables he can easily lay Keith out on, but then he spots a mattress shoved into the corner, covered with blankets. Keith’s eyes are dark as they watch him assess their options, and they widen when Shiro gets his hands under his thighs, lifting him up.

Keith hums happily before threading his fingers through Shiro’s hair and tilting his head up for another kiss, wrapping his legs around the older man as he slowly makes his way over to the mattress in the corner.

Keith’s a great painter, a pretty well-known one even, Shiro didn’t Google him-- yes he did, but his work is nothing compared to the reality. Keith’s body is everything Shiro’s ever wanted to put his hands and mouth on, and he does just that. Keith moans when he bites down on a hip bone, inhaling sharply when Shiro sucks a bruise into his thigh. He lets Shiro touch and taste for a while before he shifts, flipping them in a move that makes the older man’s head spin.

He seems just as pleased with the sight of Shiro’s skin, palms touching and mouth hot against his stomach. Keith drags his tongue against the part of his arm where flesh meets steel and Shiro’s heart does something odd in his chest.

“Fuck me,” he says instead of acknowledging it, and the scorching look in Keith’s dark eyes is well worth it.

Despite Keith’s eagerness when Shiro walked into the studio, he takes time with him, swallowing around his cock and then pulling back slowly, crooking fingers in Shiro’s body and making him moan. How a person can look so smug with a dick in their mouth is a mystery to Shiro, but Keith makes it work.

Keith’s face when he presses inside is more beautiful than anything Shiro’s ever seen before, lips parted and pink, eyes slipping closed with dark lashes fluttering against his cheek and the long column of his throat on display. Shiro is going to jerk off to that mental image for _months_. Keith pauses, letting him adjust, stretching his body over Shiro's to press their foreheads together.

Their eyes are locked when the younger man starts moving, and this, _this_ is familiar enough that Shiro feels pretty confident in his abilities. He rolls his hips up to meet Keith’s, arching his back and biting his lip between appreciative groans and whispers of the younger man’s name. He never takes his eyes off Keith’s face, and smirks when his attention makes the artist’s cheeks flush. His eyes snap closed when Keith leans up, changing the angle and making Shiro see stars.

“You’re fucking hot when you’re cocky,” Keith pants out, pushing into him a little harder, a little faster, nailing that spot inside of Shiro with every move.

“You’re fucking hot normally,” Shiro replies without thinking, but Keith grins, reaching down to stroke him off until he’s made a mess.

Shiro should leave, he knows he should leave, but his body is so blissed out he can’t move.

Apparently he says as much when Keith comes back from chucking the condom and getting a cloth to clean him up, because the younger man looks at him approvingly and smiles.

“Stay the night,” he says simply, “I wanna ride you in the morning.”

 

 

When Shiro wakes up, the bed is empty. He looks around and sees Keith by the window, sketching on a fresh canvas. He doesn’t want to distract him from his work, so he reaches for his jeans, but Keith spots him and raises an eyebrow that makes Shiro hotter than it should.

Later, when Keith’s hair falls in a curtain around him as he leans down, moaning into Shiro’s mouth as he bounces in his lap, Shiro’s glad he stayed the night.

  


Shiro has always been an efficient worker, but he hasn’t felt this clear-headed on a Monday morning in years. The responsible side of his brain tells him that the protein shakes and going to sleep early, is finally paying off. The darker and hornier part of his brain replays how he leaned down to kiss Keith goodbye on Sunday afternoon and ended up bent over a work table, with Keith’s face pressed between his thighs before he fucked him one last time. Either way, Shiro has closed more deals today than any other Monday he’s worked for Holt Realty and he leaves the office feeling excellent.

He has such a full week of meetings and showings, that he doesn’t realize he hasn’t heard from Keith since he left Sunday (a very responsible and in no way adorable exchange of _Made it home._ followed with Keith’s _glad you’re safe_ ).

His phone chimes Thursday night, just as Shiro’s decided to crack open a beer to celebrate closing the Altean account.

He answers without looking at the caller and feels a sudden flush when his greeting is met with Keith’s deep, rough voice. There’s a lot of noise in the background and Shiro chuckles.

“Are you calling me from a party?” he asks, leaning back on his sofa.

“It’s boring,” Keith replies, “wanna entertain me?”

Shiro texts him his address before they even hang up.

Keith shows up twenty minutes later and sucks him off against his front door. He lets Shiro drag him to his bedroom, wriggles out of his clothes, and falls asleep before the older man comes back with a towel and something to sleep in.

He’s gone in the morning, but there’s a text on Shiro’s phone that says: _thanks. home. c u soon._

 

  
Shiro loses count of how long they’ve been keeping this up. They text sometimes, they fuck at least once a week, more if Keith is stressed out or Shiro’s having a good week. It’s been a few months at least, and Shiro never stops feeling the thrill of seeing the younger man’s name pop up on his screen.

Matt teases that Shiro has a mystery boyfriend, and it honestly never occurred to Shiro to ask what the actual situation between he and Keith was. Keith is wild and fiercely independent, used to taking care of himself, he never really seemed the boyfriend type, but then as time went on he started spending the night more. He takes Shiro to parties that bore both of them, and they stay up talking on the couch or the roof of the building where Keith keeps his studio. Keith comes over and they just sleep, quite frequently, but then there are also some weeks where they do it everyday, pushing at each other and making each other come until Shiro needs to start buying more sheets just to keep the bed comfortable-- Shiro is never going to forget the time Keith begged to be fingered while fucking him, before pulling out of Shiro entirely and seating himself on his cock like it was something people just _do_.

One night at a party, a man whispered conspiratorially to Shiro about Keith’s relationship habits and Shiro had punched him so hard one of the steel fingers of his prosthetic went crooked and needed to be fixed. Keith said nothing, but held his hand at the techs office and then rode him on his couch murmuring against his lips, _I’m not with anyone else I swear, it’s only you._

  


Matt ends up dragging Shiro out on a Friday night. He has the company credit card and strict orders from Sam to help Shiro celebrate his accounts this week. They end up at a small bar on the West Side, near Keith’s studio, and Shiro sends him a map and an invite. It’s a long shot, but when he walks in and gives Shiro a small awkward wave his heart does that weird thing it’s been doing more and more frequently.

“Daaaaaamn,” Matt says quietly, and Shiro elbows him in the ribs without taking his eyes off the man crossing the bar, hair tied up in a messy bun.

It’s a low-key night, and Shiro appreciates it. He’s grown out of wild nights out, and Keith’s hand on his knee feels thrilling enough. Matt’s sister shows up about an hour later, dragging friends with her, and they end up all smashed together in the corner booth. Keith lets him wrap and arm around his shoulders, meeting his eye with a small grin and leaning into his side for a moment before turning back to where Lance and Hunk are passionately arguing over which classic dumpling is the most satisfying.

Shiro knows in his soul the answer is gyoza, but he stays out of it.

Keith comes home with him, even though his studio is a block away, murmuring against Shiro’s neck _want you to fuck me in that big bed,_ but they’re both too tipsy and tired to take it that far. Shiro takes him from behind in the shower the next morning, blood running hot as Keith moaned his name over and over again.

  


The truth comes out a few weeks later.

Shiro has been lounging on the mattress in Keith’s studio, waiting for the younger man to finish up a commission he’s been working on, fingering himself slowly so he’d be ready for whenever Keith inevitably bounded over and threw himself into celebrating.

“Is your bed on the floor at your place too?” Shiro teases.

Keith looks up at him with a furrow in his brow, chewing his bottom lip like he always does before he tells Shiro something deeply personal. His eyes flick from where Shiro’s fingers move, to his face and he puts down his brush.

“Shiro, I live _here_.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I find people places to live for a _living_ ,” he replies, pulling out his fingers and sitting up, “Keith I could help you find a place.”

Keith laughs.

“You’re a little outside of my price range,” he says pointedly.

“I could find you something reasonable, I swear.”

Shiro knows Keith has money. He also knows that Keith is very guarded about spending, a habit from when he was a kid in the system.

Keith looks at him for a moment and then shrugs.

It’s the closest Shiro is going to get to agreement, and he’ll take it.

 

  
  
He shows Keith a few apartments, and he hates them all.

He doesn’t come out and _say_ he does, but Shiro’s learned to read his face and eyes, and the tilt of his hip. He shows Keith a townhouse near his current place, a duplex on the Upper-East, and a penthouse downtown.

The most he’s gotten out of Keith is a dispassionate shrug.

Shiro’s frustrated, but he knew this would be a tough sell. He texts Keith an address for a private showing he knows Keith will definitely say no to. It’s big and ostentatious and out of Keith’s budget despite the fact that he could comfortably afford it. Shiro doesn’t show his annoyance easily-- except for the guy in accounting with the Eastern European accent and beady looking eyes-- but Keith is giving him little to no feedback except for, _I dunno Shiro, your place is nice._

Shiro drops the keys he was holding because it finally clicks. He keeps his realization quiet when Keith walks in. The younger man politely lets him give the tour, but he can see something off about the way he’s standing.

It’s not until they reach the kitchen that Keith steps into Shiro’s space, pressing his body flush to the older man’s and rubbing his hand along the seam of his pants.

“If I buy a house for this price, you better come included with purchase,” he murmurs.

Shiro’s not sure how exactly Keith decided this was a good idea, but the hand on his shoulder is firm and directional, and he allows himself to be pushed down onto the cool, tile floor.

Keith’s body is hot, mouth hotter against his own as he straddles his thighs, fingers thumbing the buttons of Shiro’s crisp work shirt open and rough palms greedily sliding over the exposed skin of his chest. He stands, shimmying out of his pants, and when Shiro reaches for him he realizes what’s been making him stand so strangely.

He prepped himself, and Shiro’s fingers press inside with little resistance.

Keith ends up with a mark on his face from the tile and Shiro is going to have to mop the floor, but they leave the house holding hands and laughing.

 

  
Shiro sits on his hands for a few weeks.  
Metaphorically speaking-- and literally a few times due to Keith’s insatiable love for watching Shiro finger himself.

Finally, he shows up to Keith’s studio with his car keys in one hand and a blindfold in the other.

“Kinky,” Keith breathes with a smirk, trying to pull him inside, but Shiro stands firm.

“Get in the car and put this on, I found you a place.”

Keith groans, but follows, trying to distract Shiro in the elevator by rubbing his ass and biting his lip innocently. He behaves in the car, sighing under the blindfold, but humming when Shiro reaches over to rub soothing circles over his knee.

Shiro guides him carefully through the front door, and feels Keith freeze up against him. The younger man inhales and Shiro tries to hide his grin as he pulls off the blindfold.

Keith blinks slowly, looking around the place and each moment he’s silent, the wider his eyes grow.

“Shiro?” he asks biting his lip, brows furrowed in question but eyes bright with hope.

Shiro presses a key into his palm.

“I already cleared out half the closet and drawers, and we can put up whatever art you want, there’s room for your bike in the garage, and I’m going to move the guest bedroom down stairs and convert it to a studio so you can get the good morning light and--”

Keith leaps on him, pressing his mouth to Shiro’s face over and over. He kisses his cheeks, the scar on his nose, his eyelids, leaving no part of his skin untouched before pressing his forehead to Shiro’s.

“It’s perfect, I love it,” he breathes, “I love you.”

Shiro murmurs the words back and lets Keith push him to the floor.


End file.
